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4/18/2017 Making Sense of Nonsense: An Examination of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth as Allegori…
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Caroline Jones, editor
J OU RN AL
CON TE N T
Search
Making Sense of Nonsense: An Examination of
Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Search Scope
and Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth as All
Allegories of Children's Learning Search

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Maryn Brown
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By Author
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Maryn Brown is currently completing a Master of Arts in Other Journals
Children's Literature degree through the School of Library
Archival and Information Studies at the University of British
Columbia. F ON T SIZE

Hailed as preeminent works of nonsense fantasy, Lewis Carroll's Alice's
IN F ORM ATION
Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and Norton Juster's The Phantom
Tollbooth (1961) quickly became and so remain landmarks of children's For Readers
literature. As their respective protagonists, Alice and Milo, wander through For Authors
For Librarians
unfamiliar and illogical otherworlds and find their knowledge continually
exercised, confused and contradicted, both works effectively function as
allegories of children's learning. For, as Tolkien notes, "Children's knowledge
of the world is often so small that they cannot judge, offhand and without
help, between the fantastic, the strange (that is rare or remote facts), the
nonsensical, and the merely 'grown up'" (389). Representative of two
"golden moments" in children's literature, Alice and Tollbooth employ
nonsense and word play to acknowledge children's experiences and struggles
with tedium, educational methods, language, mathematics, manners, justice
and their own processes of individuation.
Although Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and The Phantom Tollbooth
respectively mark the creative epicentres of two revolutionary publishing eras
that shook the prevailing perceptions of children's literature, only Alice may
be said to have almost singlehandedly changed this literature's course
forever. First published in 1865, Alice has been heralded as inaugurating the
Victorian "golden age" of children's literature and signifying "the liberation of
children's books from the restraining hand of the moralists" (Carpenter and
Pritchard 102). Though published in the stillinfluential wake of the Rational
and Sunday School Moralists' pedantry, or what Charles Lamb refers to as,
"'Mrs. Barbauld's stuff' and 'Mrs. Trimmer's nonsense'" (qtd. in Demers and
Moyles 220), Alice not only lacks didacticism, but parodies it. "Considering the
emphasis on information, didacticism, piety, and the daily routine of youthful
http://www.lib.latrobe.edu.au/ojs/index.php/tlg/article/view/122/117 1/8
life presented in the children's novel," writes Sheila Egoff, it is "astounding"
that this thoroughly nonsensical fantasy was written when it was (35).
Though Victorian society was notoriously straightlaced in its valuation of
educational and social conformity, an emergent appreciation of childhood
fostered a revolt against the literary dampening of children's imaginations and
individuality. In her preface to Holiday House (1839), Catherine Sinclair
mourns the loss of children's individualism and remarks, "All play of
imagination is now carefully discouraged, and books written for young
persons are generally a mere record of dry facts" (qtd. in Carpenter and
Pritchard 256). Though far from free of tuition, a brief, quasinonsensical fairy
tale is also included in Holiday House. Even Charles Dickens' realistic novel,
Hard Times (1854), reproves the education system's excessive employment
of facts and demonstrates children's need for fantasy. Likewise, as Demers
and Moyles note, Henry Cole intended his Home Treasury (184149) series of
imaginative rhymes, fables and fairy tales to stand in "opposition to the
[Peter] Parley school of facts without fancy" (220). Yet, even Edward Lear's
truly nonsensical and purely entertaining limericks found in A Book of
Nonsense (1846) did not become the pivot on which children's literature
turned. It took Alicea fullfledged nonsensical fantasy which not only aims
simply to delight, but does so by childcentrically turning Victorian social and
educational precepts on their headsto free children from the stranglehold
that factual, moralizing literature hitherto had over their scholastic and
leisure reading.
Although The Phantom Tollbooth is neither the inaugurator nor, perhaps, the
pinnacle of such a revolutionary time in children's literature as is Alice, it may
certainly be seen as a unique and ultimately classic product of one. Maurice
Sendak describes Tollbooth as "pure gold" and explains, "It was published in
New York city in 1961, that golden moment in American children's book
publishing when we lucky kids . . . were all swept up in a publishing
adventure full of risks and high jinks" (n. pag.). Children of this era were
experiencing new status and their literature was becoming more textually
and illustratively colourful. Psychoanalysts and cognitive psychologists such as
Freud, Piaget and Vygotsky had taken interest in children, revealing them to
be the deeply emotional, selfevaluative, imaginative and active learners that
they are. Accordingly, children finally began to see themselves depicted
realistically rather than idealistically in "their" literatureeven their literary
selves were occasionally afforded a subconscious (and its concomitant
problems). Moreover, the 1950s had seen the prolific publication of landmark
works of fantasy[1], a genre established by Jungian and Freudian theory as
"a valid metaphor for the passage of human life itself" (Tucker 164). Thus,
Milo's all too familiar frustrations with learning and his fantastic and
nonsensebelaboured quest to return Rhyme and Reason to the City of
Wisdom resonate and ring true.
Yet, while the adult world was busy making sense of children, children were
still having trouble making sense of what must have seemedparticularly
with the proliferation of televisionto be an increasingly large world. In the
1960s, kids were granted more autonomy and were increasingly entitled to
select their own reading materials and thereby participate in voluntary or
"open reading." Ever more conferred a culture of their own, children had
ample pleasure readingfrom comic books to the nascent "problem" novelto
choose from. However, the gap between children's interests and their
scholastic reading was widening. Even Dr. Seuss' imaginative alternative to
early readers, The Cat in the Hat (1957), could not usurp classroom
sovereignty from the prosaic Dick and Jane books. Schools were still
necessarily purveyors of facts and children were still required to assemble
these facts into meaningful wholes. Just as Victorian children needed a hero
like Alice to subvert facts and thus liberate them from moralising literature,
children of the 1960s needed heroes like Milo to bring rhyme and reason to
learning, to make sense of facts. How remarkable that nonsense proves the
perfect vehicle for both the undermining and the understanding of facts.
From the first pages of their respective stories, it is painfully apparent that
Alice and Milo are plagued by ennui and a general disenchantment with
learning. Alice is "tired" of "having nothing to do" and, after glimpsing at her
sister's book, Alice wonders, "what is the use of a book . . . without pictures
or conversations?" (Carroll 9). She also frequently decries school lessons,
making such remarks as, "always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't
like that !" (Carroll 33). Similarly, when Milo is introduced it is told that
"nothing" interested him much and, "since no one bothered to explain
otherwise, he regarded the process of seeking knowledge as the greatest
waste of time of all" (Juster 9). Indeed, Milo himself proclaims, "I can't see
the point in learning to solve useless problems, or subtracting turnips from
turnips, or knowing where Ethiopia is or how to spell February" (Juster 9).
While Milo admits he "can't see the point" in learning, Alice often
demonstratively misses the point of precepts and, like Milo, struggles with the
application of things she has learned. When she spots a bottle labelled
"DRINK ME," Alice speciously recalls the morals of several Victorian cautionary
tales "such as, that a redhot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and
that, . . . if you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison', it is almost certain
to disagree with you, sooner or later" (Carroll 1314). Alice learns that
although everything in Wonderland supposedly has a moral, she has to find
(or debunk) these herself, just as Milo discovers that in the lands beyond the
Tollbooth, "If you want sense [you] have to make it yourself" (Juster 175).
By way of the wily word play they are so often commended for and compared
by, Carroll and Juster satirize educational methodsrote or otherwisewhich
divorce words from meaning. Though Milo doesn't understand his taunt, the
Humbug infuriates the "Spelling Bee" by exclaiming, "A slavish concern for
the composition of words is the sign of a bankrupt intellect" (Juster 54). Even
the selfproclaimed "advisers" of King Azaz the Unabridged state that making
sense is not their job. As many a droning, wordy teacher may seem to, the
advisers operate by the fallacious philosophy that, "if one [word] is right, then
ten are ten times as right" (Juster 40). The quasiteacher figures that Alice
encounters also value words and memorization over meaning. After delivering
a very "dry" history lecture, the Dodo is accused of verbosity. "'Speak
English!' [says] the Eaglet. 'I don't know the meaning of half those long
words, and, what's more, I don't believe you do either!'" (Carroll 25). The
denizens of Wonderland also often order Alice to "repeat" popular Victorian
moralising poems; as Alice recalls them incorrectly, these poems and the rote
teaching techniques they represent are parodied. When Alice recites "You are
old, Father William," and the Caterpillar merely comments, "That is not said
right" (Carroll 45). Later, when Alice transposes Isaac Watts' " 'Tis the voice
of the sluggard" with "'Tis the voice of the Lobster" (Carroll 93), the
impatiently didactic Gryphon assumes that Alice "ca'n't explain" it and yet
urges, "Go on with the next verse" (Carroll 94). The Mock Turtle then
seemingly speaks on behalf of Victorian students when he asks, "What is the
use of repeating all that stuff . . . if you don't explain it as you go on?"
(Carroll 94).
Wordplay also functions to signify Alice and Milo's progression from being
intimidated or confused by language to wielding it confidently and
expediently. In Wonderland Alice is repeatedly criticised for her inability to
explain or meaningfully recite poems. But interpretive skills need be nurtured,
not imposed. As Juster notes in an online interview for The Purple Crayon
with RoseEtta Stone, a consequence of the way in which poetry is often
taught is that children are "almost always waiting to be told what it is they
have read. Or what it means. Or how important it is." Nevertheless, by the
end of her adventures, Alice appears confident in her abilities as a poem
analyst. After hearing the poem presented to the jury as evidence in the trial
of the Knave of Hearts, Alice wagers, "If any of them can explain it . . . I'll
give him a sixpence. I don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it" (Carroll
107). She even proceeds to effectively rebut the King's interpretation of a line
by quoting one herself. Alice is also often rebuked for talking nonsense when
confused by puns and linguistic ambiguities, yet she learns to effectively turn
the tables of logic (or illogic). "You've no right to grow here" (Carroll 99), the
Dormouse says to her at the trial when she is reverting to normal size.
"'Don't talk nonsense,' [says] Alice more boldly: 'you know you're growing
too'" (Carroll 99).
Like Alice, Milo is frequently made to eat his words, but only he must do so
figuratively and literally. Yet even after learning to make "tastier speeches,"
Milo is daunted by language. Ironically, it is by making another "eat words"
that his greatest linguistic achievement is symbolized. Reminiscent of quest
literature conventions, King Azaz bestows upon Milo a gift, a box containing
all the words and ideas ever voiced. When Milo later discovers that the
Gelatinous Giant literally "can't swallow" ideas, he proudly holds the King's
gift high, exclaims "I have a box full of all the ideas in the world" (Juster
222), and throws the box into the Giant's gaping mouth. So, Milo saves
himself and his questmates by symbolically using words "well and in the
right places" (Juster 99), as King Azaz assured him he could.
Just as child readers are likely to identify in some way with such allegorical
struggles and successes with language, they will likely relate to Alice and
Milo's incertitude about the applications and abstractions of mathematics.
Feeling "changed" and quite unlike herself, Alice turns to Math before any
other discipline in hopes of discovering exactly who she is. Unable to multiply
properly, she realises that "the Multiplication Table doesn't signify" (Carroll
19). To the mind of the factladen Victorian child, continually informed of the
value of mathematical tables, this would be a refreshingly comical statement,
to be sure;[2] but it also bears some truth. As Heath explains, Math "is a
purely formal science, having nothing to say . . . about questions of empirical
fact. A knowledge of such elementary formal truths would thus be of little
help for purposes of identification" (25). Milo also grapples with the
metaphysical nature and limitations of mathematics. When he meets 0.58 of
a child (the average family has 2.58 children), Milo objects, "But averages
aren't real . . . they're just imaginary" (Juster 195). Milo "had always had
trouble in school with just this subject" (Juster 197). Yet, what child is not at
times perplexed by such abstract notions as fractions (broken numbers?),
infinity (you can never reach it?), or averages, as is Milo? Learning theorists
observe that, "with the emphasis on the practicality of the rudimentary
computing skills, nothing in the way the children have been taught
mathematics has made them aware of the fascinating world of numbers"
(Bettelheim and Zelan 49). Unlike Alice, Milo has at least one tutor who
alludes to the magic of abstract arithmetical exercises. The 0.58 child
patiently explains, "one of the nicest things about mathematics, or anything
else you might care to learn, is that many of the things which can never be,
often are" (Juster 197).
Both Tollbooth and Alice depict Math as a somewhat discouraging subject. An
exact science of progressive knowledge, Math lends itself to children's
"learned helplessness." Milo, who readily admits that he's not very good with
problems, boldly objects to the "absurdity" inherent in one of the
Dodecahedron's problems, which features a sixtyeight foot beaver. While the
Dodecahedron agrees with Milo, he adds, "but it's completely accurate, and as
long as the answer is right, who cares if the question is wrong?" (Juster 175).
Sadly, such an attitude, which emphasises correctness and dismisses
conceptual meaning and appeal, is all too easily engendered by the ageold
practice of computational drilling.[3] When leaving Digitopolis, Milo insists that
everything there is too difficult for him and is probably still thwarted by the
seeming arbitrariness of "subtracting turnips from turnips." Princess Reason's
later counsel remedies Milo's defeatism and seems particularly pertinent to
the study of Math: "You must never feel badly about making mistakes . . . as
long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by
being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong
reasons" (Juster 233). Because mathematical proficiency depends on the
incremental scaffolding of concepts and rules, it is important students learn
from mistakes, thus preventing a spiral of misunderstanding. In Alice, even
the Mock Turtle's mock courses suggest that while reading and writing might
make one "reel" and "writhe," the "branches of ArithmeticAmbition,
Distraction, Uglification, and Derision" (Carroll 86)entail an increasingly
discouraging learning curve.
However, certainly not everything children learn is taught in school; as Alice
explains in Through the Looking Glass, "Manners are not taught in lessons"
(Carroll 225). A child of the 1960s, Milo's manners may simply be described
as common courtesy. He demonstrates a respect for authority, always
remembers to say "please" and "thank you," is egalitarian in his treatment of
various creatures, excuses himself for staring when he meets the 0.58 child,
and wonders without prejudice and for "just a moment" how it is that
someone with no facial features at all (the Terrible Trivium) can seem so
agreeable. Alice, on the other hand, is a child of the 1860s and her sense of
propriety may more appropriately be described as the product of a strict code
of decorum. For, while illogical conversation may frustrate or confuse her, she
is rather intolerant of breaches of decorum.
How appropriate it is, then, that the Mad Tea Party seems a breaking point in
Alice's social tolerance. [4] With reference to Decorum: A Practical Treatise on
Etiquette and Dress (1877), a typical etiquette guide of its time, Alice's
indignation with the March Hare and the Mad Hatter may be better
understood by the contemporary reader. Regarding conversation, Decorum
advises against making personal remarks to strangers; using puns, proverbs
and riddles; engaging in arguments; frequently consulting one's timepiece;
interrupting a person who is speaking and interjections. The Hatter's "first
speech" to Alice is, "Your hair wants cutting," to which Alice responds, "You
should learn not to make personal remarks . . . it's very rude" (Carroll 60). To
this the Hatter responds with the riddle, "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
(Carroll 60). Although Alice, being a child and engaged in awkward
conversation, is glad of the sport, the riddle is eventually revealed to have no
proper answer. Many arguments, several timepiece references and a good
deal of confusion later, the Hatter irrevocably offends Alice. "I don't think"
begins Alice before being interrupted by the Hatter who remarks, "Then you
shouldn't talk" (Carroll 67). It is this "piece of rudeness" that incites Alice to
get up and walk off. Hereafter, our customarily polite and pleasant Victorian
protagonist is less tolerant of such social trespasses and "nonsense."
That is not to say, however, that Milo is any less critical of illfounded rules or
contraventions of rights and freedoms, for both Alice and Milo contest the
abuses and misuses of justice in the nonsenseruled realms they visit.
Though "childkind" is particularly susceptible to unfair, arbitrary, and
extemporaneous rules, those which Alice and Milo impugn are clearly far
fetched and farcical. When in the Doldrums Milo is accused of breaking two
"local ordinances," thinking and laughing (though smiling is permitted every
other Thursday). Rightly so, Milo dismisses these laws as ridiculous. When at
the Knave of Heart's trial, the rapidly growing Alice is asked to leave on
account of "Rule Fortytwo," namely that all persons exceeding one mile in
height must leave the court. Alice refuses to leave and astutely adds,
"besides, that's not a regular rule: you invented it just now" (Carroll 105).
The King answers with the proverb, "it's the oldest rule in the book" and Alice
triumphantly contends that, in that case, it ought to be the first rule in the
book, not the fortysecond. Carroll's mockery of the justice system seems
more deliberate than many of his other social farces. Indeed, neither the
mouse's tale about "old Fury" who acts as both judge and jury, nor the
presentation of evidence at the Knave's trial appeared in the original
manuscript, Alice's Adventures Underground. Yet, whether the Queen yells
"first the sentence, and then the evidence!" as in Alice's Adventures
Underground (Carroll n. pag.), or "Sentence firstverdict afterwards" as in
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (Carroll 108), the message is the same and
so is Alice's response: "nonsense." Not unlike Carroll's decapitationhappy
Queen, Juster's Officer Shrift accuses anyone and everyone of being "guilty."
When Milo "forgets" Shrift's birthday (not that he ever knew it) Shrift, who is
police officer, judge and jailer, assigns Milo a short sentence, "I am," and six
million years in jail. Of all the absurdities that Alice and Milo must evaluate
and contend, those concerning their respective justice systems are perhaps
the most alarming.
Selfevaluation also figures greatly throughout Alice and Milo's wanderings
and wonderings: learning experiences and social comparisons are manifested
as inseparable from identity or the process of individuation. Alice and the
Caterpillar both seem to subscribe to a Lockean view of personal identity in
considering it to be chiefly based on the consistency and continuity of
memories (Heath 48). During her first of several identity crises, Alice
attempts to correctly recall facts and knowledge learned in her lessons in
hopes of discovering who she is. To the same purpose, the Caterpillar later
has her recite "You are old, Father William" (Carroll 42). Nevertheless, Alice
can remember who she was. Yet, because she cannot recall the things she
used to know, Alice assumes that she must have changed into another girl.
Alice at one point concludes that she must be Mabel, for Mabel knows "very
little." Social comparisons are central to children's early selfconcept
formations but, even to the youngest of child readers,[5] Alice's thinking
herself literally changed for another may well seem an amusing exaggeration
of the familiar idea of defining oneself in relation to another. Milo's journey of
selfdetermination largely involves distinguishing himself from the allegorical
demons he battles. When in the Doldrums, Milo must think and act in order
to avoid becoming a "Lethargian." When in the Mountains of Ignorance, he
prevents himself from becoming a "monster of habit" by calculating how
much time he is well on his way to wasting (Juster 213). Alice and Milo thus
continually struggle with who they are and who they might become.
The journeys in Wonderland and the lands beyond the Tollbooth serve not
only as exercises in selfhood and perspective for Alice and Milo, but for the
readers who identify with them as well. As Alice considers whether having
grown in size means that she has "grown up" and become an adult (Carroll
33), so too will the reader ponder the meaning of maturation. As Milo tries to
float like Alec Bings and see the world from a higher "point of view," the
reader contemplates with Milo what it means to "look at things as an adult
does" (Juster 105). Though Milo's frustrations with learning may be
vanquished through allegorical battles and within a nonsensical land, his
journey will nevertheless give the reader a sense of just how much a
persistent yet "ordinary" boy or girl can do, and just how important a sense
of humour is in the journey of learning. After all, when Milo succeeds in his
final trial his adversary the Senses Taker exclaims, "I cannot take your sense
of humourand, with it you've nothing to fear from me" (Juster 230). Child
readers of Alice may likewise learn about themselves as they vicariously
negotiate the trials and absurdities of Wonderland. As Egoff posits, "If modern
children listen to Carroll, they will find what could be an appropriate wish for
them: to learn selfcontrol, to acquire a sense of identity, and to think
logically without ceasing to be sensitive and imaginative" (50).
Carroll's and Juster's narratives operate to both diagnose and remedy
children's struggles with learning: by making fun of learning, they make
learning fun. As theorists Bettelheim and Zelan explain, "learning, particularly
learning to read, must give the child the feeling that through it new worlds
will be opened to his mind and imagination" (50). The nonsense worlds
visited in Alice and Tollbooth create ideal climates for the consideration of
knowledge and its applications, for in them Alice and Milo (and by
identification, their child readers) make as much sense or more than any
other. Moreover, in discerning nonsense they also consider what is sensible.
Although to the adult mind such grossly illogical worlds may seem
nightmarish, to the mind of a child such worlds may seem instead a
"wonderful dream" (as does Wonderland to Alice), which reflects and thus
validates their own daily bouts with confusion wrought by the hodgepodge of
learning. Thus, with any luck, the child reader's journey will parallel those of
Alice and Milo such that, at journeys' end, all may return to their own
"realities" with a fresh perspective on learning, renewed by the power of
story.
Notes
1 Egoff notes, "The decade of the 1950s is almost as
remarkable a period in the development of fantasy as the
Victorian Age", and cites the contemporaneously published
Chronicles of Narnia, The Borrowers (and sequels), The Green
Knowe Chronicles, and Tom's Midnight Garden as examples.
Sheila A. Egoff, Worlds Within: Children's Fantasy from the
Middle Ages to Today (Chicago: American Library Association,
1988) 151.
2 Alice's ridiculous attempt to thus identify herself is also
reminiscent of Dicken's character Thomas Gradgrind, a teacher
and purveyor of facts who carries "the multiplication table in his
pocket, Sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human
nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to. It is a mere
question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic." Charles
Dickens, Hard Times (1854; London: Chapman &Hall, 1907) 2.
3 It is interesting to note that the ongoing debate between
"speeded practice" and "number sense" methods of teaching
mathematics parallels that between "basic skills" and "whole
language" where the teaching of reading is concerned. While
methods emphasizing a basic skills teaching of math and
reading prevailed in the 1960s, educators and psychologists now
generally promote a blend of basic and holistic methods.
4 For though earlier she tires of the Caterpillar's "short
remarks," she still confides in him that she finds the inhabitants
of Wonderland to be "easily offended;" and though she finds it
"decidedly uncivil" when the Duchess' footman looks at the sky
while he addresses her, she forgives him on account of his being
a fish. Note also that Alice's "breaking point" is indelibly
captured by Tenniel's illustration of The Mad Tea Party; for while
Alice is hitherto drawn in somewhat awkward situations and
posing, from the Tea Party onwards she appears to more
comfortably hold her ground.
5 Berk notes that while children aged 46 can make social
comparisons in relation to one peer, older children can compare
multiple individuals, including themselves. Laura E. Berk, ed.,
Child Development, Canadian ed. (Toronto: Allyn & Bacon,
2003) 448.
Works Cited
Berk, Laura E., ed. Child Development. Canadian ed. Toronto:
Allyn & Bacon, 2003.
Bettelheim, Bruno and Karen Zelan. On Learning to Read: The
Child's Fascination with Meaning. 1981. New York: Vintage
Random, 1982.
Carpenter, Humphrey and Mari Prichard, eds. The Oxford
Companion to Children's Literature. 1984. New York: Oxford UP,
1999.
Carroll, Lewis [Charles Dodgson]. Alice's Adventures
Underground. 1985. London: Pavilion, 2000. N.pag.
. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking
Glass. Ed. Roger Lancelyn Green. Illus. John Tenniel. 1865. New
York: Oxford UP, 1998.
Decorum: A Practical Treatise on Etiquette and Dress. Chicago:
J.A. Ruth, 1877.
Demers, Patricia and Gordon Moyles, eds. From Instruction to
Delight: An Anthology of Children's Literature to 1850. Toronto:
Oxford UP, 1982.
Dickens, Charles. Hard Times. 1854. London: Chapman &Hall,
1907.
Egoff, Sheila A. Worlds Within: Children's Fantasy from the
Middle Ages to Today. Chicago: American Library Association,
1988.
Gardner, Martin. The Annotated Alice. 1960; New York:
MeridianNew American, 1974.
Heath, Peter. The Philosopher's Alice. New York: St. Martin's,
1974.
Juster, Norton. The Phantom Tollbooth. Illus. Jules Feiffer.
1961. New York: Dell Yearling, 1996.
Lamb, Charles. Letter to Coleridge. 23 October 1802, quoted in
Demers and Moyles 220.
Lear, Edward. A Book of Nonsense. 1846. London: Routledge,
1910.
Sendak, Maurice. "An Appreciation." Introduction. Juster n. pag.
Stone, RoseEtta. Interview with Norton Juster, Author of The
Phantom Tollbooth. The Purple Crayon. 2001. 17 April 2004
http://www.underdown.org/juster.htm
Tolkien, J.R.R."On FairyStories." The Tolkien Reader. 1966.
New York: Ballantine, 1974. 384.
Tucker, Nicholas. "Good Friends or Just Acquaintances? The
Relationship between Child Psychology and Children's
Literature." Literature for Children: Contemporary Criticism. Ed.
Peter Hunt. New York: Routledge, 1992. 15673.
Maryn Brown
Volume 9, Issue 1, The Looking Glass, 2 January, 2005
Site design and content, except where noted, © The Looking Glass 2007.
"Making Sense of Nonsense: An Examination of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland and Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth as Allegories of Children's
Learning"
© Maryn Brown, 2005.
Send general correspondence regarding The Looking Glass c/o The Editor.

The Looking Glass: new
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ISBN 15515680

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4/18/2017 Making Sense of Nonsense: An Examination of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth as Allegori…

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